The Taming of the Cop
by brookemopolitan
Summary: Castle and Beckett's relationship through the eyes of Martha Rodgers... with a little bit of help from The Bard. Written for the 100th Episode.


**After seeing the 100th episode and seeing Martha call Kate "Katherine" (which I adored... it was like she was accepted into the family) I wanted to interpret the Caskett through Martha's eyes and what better way to do it than through Shakespeare? I shamelessly take a feminist reading of The Taming of the Shrew and I really think it acts as a nice lens to interpret our favourite writer and muse (for those playing at home, 10 Things I Hate About you was based on The Taming of the Shrew). Very excited to announce this is fic 45 for me!**

**Many thanks to Em for her edits and to Annie for instructing me as to why Neanderthal was an inappropriate language choice :P**

**I own nothing. Nothing at all.**

_Petruchio: Come, come, you wasp, i'faith you are too angry._  
_Katherine: If I be waspish, best beware my sting._  
_Petruchio: My remedy is then to pluck it out._  
_Katherine: Ay, if the fool could find where it lies._  
_Petruchio: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail._  
_Katherine: In his tongue._  
_Petruchio: Whose tongue?_  
_Katherine: Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell._  
_Petruchio: What, with my tongue in your tail?_

_The Taming of the Shrew, Act II, Scene I 207-214_

* * *

Martha shut the front door to the loft, a bemused expression on her face. Schooling her avocado mud masked features into cool interest, she turned to face her son and granddaughter.

"So, that's what Beckett is like when she's not hauling you off to interrogation?" Alexis mused as she unstrapped herself from her laser tag equipment.

"I know," Castle responded gleefully. "She's the perfect inspiration for Nikki Heat, isn't she?"

Martha's lips quirked into a wry smile. Her darling son was many things; chief among them a Casanova with a heart of gold. He'd been charming women with his crooked grin and bright blue eyes since he could crawl; and he was just as quickly enamoured by a pretty smile and a girlish giggle.

It was obvious to anybody with a pulse that her son was already smitten with the prickly detective. Most people would have dismissed Detective Beckett's waspish exterior, but Martha Rodgers wasn't just anybody. Years ago, when she'd first studied her craft, she'd learnt that an actor's greatest tool was to study the people around them, to be able to make the measure of a character before they spoke a word. An actor's job is to study human psychology and use it to bring a character to life.

"Is she so hot a shrew as she's reported?" Martha wondered.

"What on earth do you mean, Mother?" Castle asked impatiently.

"You're the one stalking the girl for a living, darling," she called out graciously, gliding towards the stairs.

"What do you mean by a shrew?" He hollered after her.

"Ask the Bard, kiddo. Honestly, did I raise a Philistine?"

* * *

She simply couldn't resist. When Detective Beckett, all Snow White pale skin and dark hair, had given up the location of the benefit, despite the wild gesticulations of her son (did he not believe her when she told him she had eyes at the back of her head?), it was simply too tempting to not doll up and spy on the pair of them in action.

They were Taylor and Burton personified, all sizzle and spark as they glided across the dance floor, their awkward sexual tension enveloping them like a fine mist.

The proof was in the pudding when the auction began.

The fact that Kate could resist her son's charms so effortlessly was the only evidence Martha Rodgers needed of her shrewish hypothesis. She didn't quite know what to make of Kate's acceptance of a breakfast invitation, but she supposed every adaptation needed an adjustment or two.

Richard was staring at the doorframe wistfully, all but drooling as he watched Detective Beckett leave, his gaze an ever fixed mark on the door.

Martha couldn't resist the opportunity to tease her son a little bit.

"Say she rail; why, I'll tell her plain  
She sings as sweetly as a nightingale.  
Say that she frown; I'll say she looks as clear  
As morning roses newly wash'd with dew.  
Say she be mute and will not speak a word;  
Then I'll commend her volubility,  
and say she uttereth piercing eloquence." Martha gave him a wink, sashaying away, wondering if he'd ever take the hint.

* * *

Martha had begun hatching a plan the second Alexis had informed her that Detective Beckett was staying at the loft. She was horrified that a sociopath had targeted her in such a horrific fashion, but she couldn't help latching onto the opportunity to see Kate without her Detective mask on.

It didn't disappoint.

Even standing barefoot in a kitchen, clad in one of her son's shirts, Kate Beckett was a formidable woman. Martha was delighted to see that Kate had no qualms about slapping her son with a spatula and cutting him with her waspish tongue.

Thank goodness they weren't following the timing of a stage production. They were barely making it through the first movement of a Well-Made Play.

* * *

Martha Rodgers had made many mistakes in her life. One too many glasses of champagne, several near misses with the constabulary, kissing many a stranger. Despite her many flaws, Martha had singlehandedly raised a diamond in the rough. Her heart stuttered with pride when she saw the quality of a man her son had become.

"And you're quite sure you want to do this?" Martha asked him quietly, slipping the draft proposal for the scholarship Richard intended to open in Johanna Beckett's name back into its manila folder. "She could eat you alive for this," she added for good measure.

"I'm expecting her to be mad," Richard agreed. "I'm sure she'll try and persuade me not to do it." He shrugged helplessly at his mother. "She's given me so much. She's given me the single greatest writing challenge of my life. I have to do this for her because I lo…" He paused, fighting for the right words. He gave up and leaned over to press a kiss to his mother's cheek. "I just have to do this for her." He picked up the folder, discreetly checking his pockets for wallet and keys, informing Martha that he'd see her in a few hours.

* * *

Martha had deliberately turned up the tease factor in her one-woman show. She was well aware that her son had never been quite the terror she made him out to be, but the chance to torment him just a little was far too good to pass up.

The fact that they'd been called away to solve a case was actually better than anything Martha could have planned. She damn near broke character and cheered when she saw Kate reach over to grasp Richard's hand. The thawing out she was so hoping for was finally beginning. Hell, this was practically a kiss in the middle of a public street for somebody as private as Kate Beckett. The tension in the play was rising and Martha only hoped they'd realise they were barrelling towards the climax of the play. There was only so far they could go before they reached the point of no return.

Martha crossed her fingers and hoped they'd act on their chemistry and not let it burn out.

* * *

Her son was a love sick, besotted fool. He had been for years, but he'd finally gone ahead and proved it when he took Kate skiing and managed to fracture his kneecap as he was showing off.

Kate had been shockingly good about it all. She'd had no qualms about cancelling their trip early, flying Richard back and ignoring his painkiller induced delirium. She'd left him alone for a grand total of forty-five minutes… long enough for her to tear across town and pack herself a bag before rushing back to the apartment.

Richard Castle had loved many women in his lifetime. In their own imperfect ways, many women had loved him back. Some had been selfish, others immature, or only loving the idea of him; but he'd been loved none the less. But when Kate listened to his morphine induced ranting and silenced him by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his knee, Martha was certain. Her son had loved many women throughout his life, but this was the first time a woman loved him, as he deserved to be loved. This was it for them both.

Kate patiently helped him to bed, before joining Martha in the kitchen. "So, I have this idea for Castle's birthday…"

Martha listened attentively to Kate's plan. Her heart swelled with affection for the woman who had embraced her son's boyish heart. "You want to plan his own mystery for his birthday?" Martha confirmed.

"Do you think he won't like it?" Kate asked anxiously, digging her teeth into her lower lip.

"Oh, Katherine," Martha sighed, her full name slipping out without even realising it. She reached across the table to grasp Kate's hand, noting the blush that had risen on her cheeks. Martha was a strong believer in the power of using one's full name and she sincerely hoped Kate would interpret it as the sign of affection it was intended as. "It's perfect."

* * *

Martha wheeled her suitcase out to the living room, mentally preparing herself for the barrage of complaints her son was sure to direct against her when she announced her "spa trip" (she would be staying in Kate's apartment across town, but no need for him to know the truth).

"Now Martha, feel free to help yourself to anything at my place. And let me know if there's anything I can get for you at all," Kate reminded her for the umpteenth time as she skilfully fried bacon.

"Katherine, I have lived alone before," Martha reminded her good naturedly. "But there is one thing you could do for me." Martha tugged Kate away from the burner. "My parents gave me these for my 21st birthday. I'd be honoured if you'd wear them."

Kate's jaw dropped as she opened the jewellery box, admiring the strand of pearls nestled there. "Martha, I couldn't…"

"Nonsense, darling. You can and you will." Martha gave her a wink. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get myself into character so I don't blow the whole charade."

* * *

Kate had pulled the whole thing off exquisitely. Richard hadn't even suspected a thing. Martha gave her a tight hug as the goodbyes began. "Congratulations darling," she murmured to her, brushing the twin set of pearls strung around Kate's wrist.

"The other set was my mother's," Kate informed her quietly. "I thought I'd wear a pair from both of you," she added shyly.

"We're nearly wrapped up here," Martha decided. "You leave the clean up to me. I insist."

Kate shot Martha a final grin as they exited the building. Martha waved to them both as they entered the apartment, blowing them both a kiss. "Now, go thy ways; thou hast tamed a curst shrew."

* * *

**It was a lot of fun getting into the Grande Dame's head and it was more fun to use my love of the stage in fic... let me know what you think!**

**Feel free to follow me! I'm on twitter/tumblr as brookemopolitan**


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